Simple Flirtation
by Rose Black
Summary: K for romance. Blaise is Doing what he Has to Do, and Morag is not buying it.


Simple Flirtation

Disclaimer:  You may be surprised to learn that I don't actually own these characters.  They really are in the books, and in reality, Blaise is male.  I haven't made anybody up for this story, just their characters.  JK Rowling owns their names.

It had started out as a simple flirtation in Herbology.  Draco had been bragging about his "prowess" with women, and Blaise had been powerless to resist the urge to show him up.  It was ludicrous, anyway, because as far as Blaise knew, Draco had never come into contact with a female in a romantic context, apart from possibly Pansy.  None of them had, really; they were only fifteen, after all.

He told Draco imperiously to "just watch," then sidled down the table, passing bags of potting soil and some renegade plants, until he was standing next to McDougal, a shortish Ravenclaw girl with dark hair.  All of the Ravenclaws were just an assortment of last names and vague impressions of hair or eye colors; Ravenclaws were acceptable acquaintances for Slytherins, but it didn't do to ask them for more than some homework help, on occasion.

"Hi," he said, and smiled slowly, in a manner that he hoped was comparable to a cat.  "Can I borrow those shears?"

She smiled back in a friendly manner.  "All right.  Just let me finish—here."

Blaise gave her a smoldering look.  "Thank you … very much."

She glanced at him quizzically.  "That's … kind of you.  D'you feel all right?"

"Er … of course."

She beamed.  "That's good," she said, and went back to gardening.  Blaise stood for a moment, and then stalked back to the Slytherins feeling vaguely dissatisfied: after all, she hadn't really fallen all over herself, staring into his eyes and such, had she?  Draco was a bit wrong-footed by the fact that Blaise had actually gone over to talk to a girl-who-wasn't-a-friend, and it showed through a hastily put-up bluff.

Blaise didn't really intend to pursue any course of action pertaining to McDougal.  But he found himself watching her during Herbology and at mealtimes, almost as though his eyes were gravitationally attracted to her hair, or her nose.  He had read enough literature of both Muggle and wizarding authors to decide that he was in love with the Ravenclaw.  _There will be hell to pay,_ he thought at one point, _if Draco decides to be a twit about this._

* * *

It was odd, really; he—and most likely everyone in any house—took it for granted that all of the people that he didn't come in contact with were not, in actuality, there, and that those he wasn't intimate with were mere cutouts, with no life or personality until he noticed them.  And now one of those cutouts had become a real, living person.  It was mind boggling, as he told Theodore.

"You're insane," said Theodore, and they went back to their Transfiguration.

One thing was perplexing, though: he bought her flowers (officially sent anonymously, of course, but with one of his cards tucked discreetly into the bouquet), owled tasteful little boxes of chocolates to her dorm, and even debated giving her jewelry—in short, based on his research, he Did what he Had to Do, even going so far as to think of her by her first name rather than her last—and she completely ignored it all.  She didn't even have the decency to give him a cutting remark or two.  Morag's eyes would flick from the present to his face, wherever he was seated, and bestow upon him a faint, possibly mocking half-smile and a pair of raised eyebrows.

At last, during one Herbology lesson, Blaise pulled up the bench next to Morag instead of Theodore and sat down.

"Hello, Blaise," she said serenely.  "Do get me some potting soil, will you?"  As he returned with it, she thanked him.  "It's rather odd of you to come sit over here.  What about Theo?"

"What _about_ him?"

"Won't he be lonely?  He doesn't have many other friends, I think."

"I don't want to talk about Theo—Theodore.  I want to talk about us."

"Us?  Blaise, have you been reading self-help books?"

"Perhaps."  It didn't really count as reading them, because they hadn't helped at all; most of them were about patching up a relationship instead of starting one, or else, alarmingly, how to become engaged.

"Well, anyway, there is no us."

"Why not?" Blaise asked recklessly.  Here he was, being brave and insane and Doing what he Had to Do, or at least Doing what He thought was Probably the Right Course of Action, or what would Hopefully Achieve the Desired Outcome.  "Why can't there be an us?"

"Because you don't like me.  I haven't got the foggiest idea why you've decided you do, but you don't."

"I like you!  I like you."

"You have a very strange idea of like, then.  You're not doing anything real, what real people do when they like each other.  What were you going to do next, give me a diamond tiara?"

"Er—"

"Never mind!"

"What's real, then?" he asked belligerently.  "Tell me what I'd do if I did real things."

"Oh—you might carry my books, or just tell me I looked nice, or maybe ask me to a Hogsmeade weekend.  So there!"

They sat in silence until the end of the lesson.  Morag repotted busily, always checking to make sure that she had the exact level of soil necessary for proper Flutterby development, and getting a little smudge of dirt on her nose.  Blaise slouched in his seat, trowelling dismally but not really getting much done, and alternately watching Theodore and Morag.  Theodore kept darting forlorn glances at Blaise, as he had unluckily been partnered with Millicent, who was decimating their bush.

When the bell rang, Morag swept up all of her books and placed them in her bookbag.  Just as she turned to stride away, Blaise put his hand on her arm.

"May I—may I carry your books, Morag?"  She hesitated, then smiled and handed him her bag.  He offered his arm, and she took it, grinning up at him as they walked out the door.


End file.
